


Every Storm

by VanessaWolfsbane



Series: Worlds Aligned Crossover Series [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, Iron Man (Comic), Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, can be taken as bromance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-27 21:09:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1722641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanessaWolfsbane/pseuds/VanessaWolfsbane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every storm runs out of rain. It's surviving until the sun comes out that's the hard part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Storm

_So you're standing in the middle of the thunder and lightning_   
_I know you're feeling like you just can't win, but you're trying_   
_It's hard to keep on keepin' on, when you're being pushed around_   
_Don't even know which way is up, you just keep spinning down, 'round, down…_

“ _Every Storm (Runs Out of Rain)”- Gary Allan_

Dick screamed as his fists came into contact with the punching bag again and again. His knuckles were sore, his arms ached, but he was too furious to care.

“ _How-_ ” grunt “- _fucking-_ ” grunt “- _DARE-_ ” grunt “- _he_?!” Dick stopped and leaned against the punching bag, his chest heaving. He gave it one final, half-hearted punch before sinking to the ground, his hands tugging at his hair. One fucking bullet. One fucking lucky bullet, and he's fired! _Fired!_ What right did he have? What fucking _right_ did Bruce have to tell him what he could do?

Dick howled and raced up the stairs into the manor. If Bruce didn't want Robin, he couldn't have Dick. He'd leave. He didn't need Bruce. Clearly Bruce didn't need him. What difference would it make? Dick made it to his room and grabbed his backpack, dumping out the few school supplies and shoving it full of random clothes and supplies. A utility belt, just in case.

Dick was about to leave when he remembered something. Alfred. He couldn't just leave without saying goodbye to Alfred. But he couldn't face him either. Scrambling through his pile of supplies on the floor, Dick found a paper and pen and began to write.

 

_Dear Alfred,_

_Please don't worry, I'll be fine. I was trained by the best, remember? If Bruce doesn't want me anymore, that's fine. I'll find somewhere I belong, somewhere I'm wanted, someone who wants me. Whoever_ I _even am anymore, without Robin._

_I love you Alfred. I really do._

_Dickie_

He didn't know why he signed it with his childhood nickname. Maybe it said something about his state of mind. Dick shrugged it off, grabbed the backpack, and raced down to the garage. If he was leaving, Bruce better be damn sure he was taking his motorcycle with him.

–

Dick was going 120 down the highway in the pouring rain, his vision blurred with tears, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He felt angry, but he was also hurt. Robin was his, it was who he was, and Bruce just tore that piece of him away and tossed it in the trash. That only left Dick. Small, broken, orphan Dick. The little boy that's been hiding beneath Robin since he put on the mask. Bruce made him vulnerable again, and Dick hated him for it.

But despite the anger, despite the hatred, Bruce was still Dick's father, and it hurt to think that he didn't want him anymore. That he wasn't good enough for him. That Bruce didn't need him as much as he needed Bruce. A tear slid down his cheek and Dick swerved a bit as he choked back a sob.

 

_Every storm runs, runs out of rain_   
_Just like every dark night turns into day_   
_Every heartache will fade away_   
_Just like every storm runs, runs out of rain_

“ _Every Storm (Runs Out of Rain)”- Gary Allan_

Peter Parker sat cross-legged on his bed, staring blankly at the water drops trailing down the window. Rain pounding harshly onto the sidewalk below, cracks of thunder and flashes of lightning faded into the background on the other side of the glass. No criminal could possibly be stupid enough to go out in that hurricane. Yet still, Peter's eyes shot longingly to his Spider-Man suit spread out over the comforter. All of his homework was done, and he wanted so badly to go for a swing across the city. But it would be suicide to leave the house in that storm.

“Peter dear! There's somebody at the door for you!” shouted Aunt May from downstairs. Peter's head swiveled to his bedroom door, brow furrowed and curiosity piqued. He wasn't exactly Mr. Popularity on sunny days. Stormy nights almost guaranteed solitude. Peter shoved his suit under the bed and threw open his door, skipping steps as he raced down the stairs.

“Who is it, Aunt M-” Peter froze on the last step, words catching in his throat. Aunt May held the door open with a knowing smile on her face, icy rain blowing into the house and drenching the floor. And there, standing soaking wet on the front porch, with a dripping backpack over his shoulder and a motorcycle helmet under one arm, was Dick freaking Grayson.

“Hey Pete.” Dick offered a small smile and a half-wave. Peter shook his head quickly before rushing forward to pull Dick inside.

“Get your soggy butt in here before you catch a cold,” Peter chided, kicking the door shut. Dick's lips twitched.

“Yes mom.”

Aunt May glanced back and forth between the two teenage boys. “I'll just go put on some tea, or coffee, or something,” she excused herself, skittering off to the kitchen.

“So what are you doing back in New York?” Peter began walking up the stairs and jerked his head for Dick to follow. Dick toed off his muddy shoes, out of habit or respect Peter didn't know, and trailed after the other boy.

“I kinda, sorta, maybe got fired,” Dick muttered. Peter led Dick into his room and locked the door behind them, kicking piles of clothes into the closet and swiping a stack of textbooks off the bed before plopping down. Dick dropped his bag and helmet in a corner and sat stiffly on the edge of the mattress.

“I didn't know you had a job,” Peter replied casually.

“I didn't. _Technically_.” Dick raised his eyebrows meaningfully and Peter caught on with an 'ooh,' before he frowned.

“He can fire you?”

Dick shrugged. “Apparently.” They sat in awkward silence for a minute before Dick finally asked, “So can I crash here tonight?”

“I guess. Just...why?”

Dick dropped his gaze to the floor, his jaw tightening the tiniest bit. “I didn't want to be alone.”

Peter stared at him intently. “Why me? Why not Wally, or Roy, or Donna, or even Clark? You know none of them would even think twice.”

Dick shifted uncomfortably, still avoiding Peter's eyes. “He wouldn't look for me here.”

Peter felt his throat tighten when he heard Dick's voice crack. He hadn't seen or heard from Dick Grayson since the night of the party, since the night they became best friends, only to become strangers again. It had been only a few months, yet it felt like an eternity had passed. Peter wanted so bad to be angry for that. He wanted to yell at Dick for never calling, for giving Peter the easy friendship and understanding he never knew he needed and then vanishing. But he couldn't be angry with Dick, not when he looked so lost. Not when he needed him.

Peter felt as if he had known everything about Dick that night, and yet the man next to him was a stranger. The rain-soaked man with the sad eyes and forced smile dripping water onto his bed was not the cheerful boy he'd swapped secrets with a lifetime ago. He felt like maybe Dick Grayson wasn't as simple as he'd seemed. And maybe even Dick wasn't sure who he was right then. Peter plastered on his biggest smile and clapped Dick on the shoulder.

“Not to worry dude, tonight we're at _my_ safe-house.”


End file.
